


Free Fall

by apothothesis (valoirs)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoirs/pseuds/apothothesis
Summary: I am the Supreme Primarch, he tells himself. For once in his life, the mantle fits.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally completed in November 2019, written for the ["Our Side of Paradise" zine](https://twitter.com/lucisanzine).

"These are the skies we will watch over together," Lucifer says quietly.

It's Sandalphon's first time outside of the laboratory walls—the first time he's seen the shaded garden and the blue skies beyond. Lucifer holds him close, cradling him like fine glass as they hover high in the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily in the distance.

He still remembers how it felt when he first woke—the cradle's warmth receding as it unfurled from around him, the way he shivered at the rush of cold air from the laboratory. Lucifer stood before him, his presence a beacon of warmth as he offered Sandalphon a gentle hand. Even as a newly born angel with a still-stabilizing core and wings too weak for flight, ignorant of a purpose, Sandalphon had turned to him like a flower to the sun, unable to look away.

Now, Lucifer smells like the garden itself, like the forget-me-nots and honeysuckles that crown the dew-covered grass. Below them, the grass and trees are mere streaks of color, tiny compared to the vastness of the endless sky. Even with so much to see, everything in Sandalphon's being focuses on the warmth of Lucifer's presence, attunes to the graceful beating of his wings, the way they both sway with every gentle motion.

He knows nothing of this world, not yet, but he does know this: for Lucifer, he would do anything at all.

When he speaks for the first time, the words emerge with breathless wonder.

"Yes, Lucifer."

"I find myself marveling at mortal ingenuity. It fascinates me that the bonds they forge hold strong even in such adversity," Lucifer says.

Sandalphon looks up from his cup of coffee. This afternoon, Lucifer is all charmed delight, muted as it is, his attention caught by the latest quirk of skydweller innovation. They've met enough times, now, that Sandalphon recognizes the thoughtful look on Lucifer's face. It's different from the one he normally wears when they debate evolution, recounting developments in the local fauna—softer, laden with a feeling that slips through his fingers like grains of sand. He doesn't have a name for it.

There's an inexplicable feeling behind his sternum when he sets down his cup.

"Not all of them are like that," Sandalphon says, thinking of the mortal literature Lucifer has brought for him to read between their meetings, innocuous ways to pass the time.  _ So much of skydweller culture makes no sense, _ he thinks. Their rituals and rites are without real purpose, placebos to fill their gaps in knowledge. Even the libraries of the lab with reports on evolution hold accounts of conflicts between the mortals, from petty squabbles to grander schemes. Some of the lesser angels, sent to compile the minutiae, are terribly efficient in their chronicling.

"Yes. Their belief structures are not homogeneous." Lucifer's gaze shifts; Sandalphon follows that line of sight to a pair of birds flitting through the nearby trees, darting between the leaves, chasing each other. "Yet no small fraction of mortals will form strong loyalties when tested. We've seen this in the wars they bid. One mortal, alone, may be weak… But, together, they hold the strength to change this world."

The sun is high in the sky. Its light filters through the foliage, dusts gold on Lucifer's hair. Lucifer has always looked suited to standing in the light, painted in warmer colors. Not like the Astral, with his indifferent eyes and uncannily pale complexion. It's not the first time Sandalphon catches himself studying Lucifer, watching him for the simple pleasure of seeing the slightest shifts in his expressions.

Sometimes, he wonders what it is that Lucifer sees when he leaves this garden to watch over the mortals.

"Ah... That's par for the course, isn't it, Lucifer?" He smiles at Lucifer easily, fondly, the way none of the other angels dare to. "It's evolution in progress. They've been doing what they can to survive. And if that means fighting as communities—"

But to his surprise, Lucifer shakes his head gently. His expression is heavy with that same indecipherable feeling. "No… I mean to say something else." He pauses, contemplative. "Do you think that perhaps they are doing more than just surviving?"

"Like what?"

"Living." Lucifer's placid calm eases into a soft smile, like dawn breaking. "They may have found meaning where we have not."

"Is there a difference?"

"I believe so. Their cultures come up with remarkable things. The food they eat, the art they make, the music they sing, the dances they perform… How will those things change in several thousand years' time? I'm certain they, too, will evolve. Much like how they will transform coffee." Lucifer smiles a little ruefully. "But forgive me. Perhaps that is something that merits examination some other day."

"Ah, it's all right. I'm honored to hear your thoughts!" There isn't much to forgive, after all—not when Sandalphon knows he could listen to Lucifer muse on evolution for hours without tiring, rewarded by the mere sound of his voice.

"No, we can revisit that discussion another time. There isn't much time before I must go again." Lucifer smiles ruefully again, his finger tracing the handle of his cup. Sandalphon tracks the motion of it, the graceful way his fingertip glides over the smooth porcelain. "There is another hypothesis I wished to share with you, something I discussed with my friend Lucilius recently. We were following the progression of several bird species on another island. Over many years, they formed new adaptations to counter each other. A type of songbird developed armored feathers as a defense against the talons of a native hawk. But in turn, the hawk developed heavier talons to pierce that armor with brute force. They have cycled through numerous adaptations, constantly struggling to overtake the other. An evolutionary race."

"Armored feathers." Sandalphon frowns. "How would they still fly? Would they not be trading one advantage for another?"

Lucifer looks thoughtful again. "They did trade that particular advantage. In evolving to survive against their primary predator, they lost their ability to fly. You could say that their wings are vestigial features."

Sandalphon gazes into his coffee. His own reflection greets him, turned murky on the rippling surface. "Even if they're evolving to survive, it's a shame to lose that."

He thinks of the other angels at the lab, the vibrancy of their plumage, all in stark contrast to the drabness of his own. What would it be like if even the four primarchs could no longer fly, their wings collapsing under their own weight?

It would be a mercy at that point if someone tore them off.

"I wonder what that would be like," he says softly. "If we, too, lost our ability to fly."

Sometimes, he dreams.

It's almost a script by now: Sandalphon wakes with Lucifer's voice in his ears, the warmth of a coffee cup in his hands, and a question on his lips.

The Singularity has told him numerous times that upon waking, her dreams often scatter. The details escape her; she is used to not remembering. She carries on regardless, smiling.

For a primarch like Sandalphon, whose memory stretches further, the details unfold with only a thought. He can still recall it: the garden unfurling around him in a swathe of greenery, the trees lining the perimeter with their fragrant blossoms. Once, this had been his cage, where he'd waited day after day for Lucifer to return from his duties. Another time, it had been distorted in his nightmares, engulfed in a maelstrom of debris alongside an emptiness at Lucifer's neck and the frothing fury of Avatar.

These days, it features differently: morning dew glistening faintly on the grass, the soft scent of flowers permeating the stillness. Lucifer smiling gently as Sandalphon rises to his feet.

_ I'll be waiting. _

The lines between his own dreams and the memories he inherited from Lucifer have long blurred. The guilt gnaws slowly at him. Many moments he should not have been privy to were laid bare before his curiosity. As much as he knew he was intruding, it had been impossible to suppress them. Was it infringing on Lucifer's privacy, to look through it all?

What would Lucifer have  _ wanted _ him to see?

Sometimes, the Singularity and her motley crew have the right of it. He knows they are not always smiles and laughter, that sometimes, in the quieter, stiller moments of the evening, there are harsh conversations and grim altercations. They confront, they discuss, they carry on. It's far more than Sandalphon has managed to achieve despite all the years he'd had with Lucifer. There hadn't been enough time.

If he had more, he'd make it play out. A true conversation, where he has nothing to hide.

In the meantime, he has this: the crew, the friendships, the understanding that mortals and primals alike are hovering in shared space, equals whether they were born with a purpose or chose their own. In the wake of the fallen angels' scheme, the Sky Realm has been rebuilding. They'd had a party in the first week, Gabriel gleefully playing host after several drinks. She had never been reticent the way Raphael was, or half as stern as Michael. Instead, she had taken to  _ living _ with an eagerness he hadn't expected. Even Uriel was taken aback.

The problem comes when an invitation rolls in from the Knickknack Shack for the Singularity. It arrives innocuously enough: plain parchment, a seal that Sandalphon doesn't recognize. He learns exactly what the fuss is when he's cornered one morning while making his morning coffee.

First it's Vyrn who slips through the door, hovering in the air, his small wings beating gently. "Oi, Sandals! Did you hear about the invitation?"

"No, I haven't." Methodically, he grinds the beans. The inviting fragrance rises steadily into the air as he works. "Is it important?"

"Well, I wouldn't say  _ important_, but you should take a look too!"

"Do you have it?" he asks, already aware that Vyrn has entered the kitchen empty-handed. He gives him a wry look. "If you don't, there isn't anything to look at."

"Hey, Lyria has it! She was supposed to—"

"Sandalphooon!"

He knows that voice well enough to grip the grinder more carefully as Lyria darts into the kitchen, Djeeta at her heels. She slides up easily to the counter and fits herself next to Sandalphon, sniffing, looking delighted. "Are you making coffee again? Can we have some too?"

He lets out a breath, though it isn't exactly a sigh, as it might have been in the past. "I was already planning to make more. Sit down and tell me about this invitation." It's the only surefire way to keep them all still while he works, and some part of him still lurches every time someone comes dangerously close to knocking the powder over. They know how to procure more now, but he can't stomach the notion of letting a single bean go to waste.

"Lancelot, Charlotta, and Albert are having their orders joint-host a banquet to celebrate everyone's hard work," Djeeta explains once she's wrangled Lyria and Vyrn into taking a seat. "They invited the entire crew. We were thinking you could come too."

Sandalphon is silent as he finishes everyone's coffee. He adds extra milk and sugar to Vyrn's, just as the dragon likes, favors Lyria's with just a little bit of milk, and makes the Singularity's coffee to match his own. It's only after he sets everything down on the table that he speaks, surveying the invitation lying open on the table, the parchment unfolded and lined with elegant script. He'd partaken of the celebrations before, when it was just Sierokarte's treat, but attending such a grandiose event…

"This is unnecessary," he says. "We already celebrated before. You have no need of my attendance."

" _Everyone _ will be there this time. All the knights. It'll be fun!" Djeeta says, with that infuriating optimism of hers, as if she needs no other reason to go.

"It will  _ not_," he says.

"Oh," says Lyria, visibly deflating. "But you should come! I think you'd like it. And we already made preparations…"

"Preparations?" he echoes, not liking the sound of this.

As it turns out, the morning is the only peaceful moment in the day. Of course it has to be a banquet; of  _ course _ there will be drinking and dancing and countless people in attendance. It sounds precisely like the type of event he has no idea how to handle.

As if that isn't bad enough, the Singularity cheerfully springs a question on him.

"Sandalphon, have you ever danced before?"

Somehow, he can feel his fate being sealed. "I haven't, but—"

"No buts!" Lyria chimes in this time. "We'll teach you! Djeeta taught me how to dance too!"

They gather him into one of the empty cabins for practice, one large enough for the motions of a basic dance. He's paired with Lyria first. Djeeta stands next to them, guiding their hands into proper places, Sandalphon set to lead. Only after they're positioned properly does Djeeta retreat to the side. She hums a tune under her breath and counts steps for them on a basic waltz, Vyrn shouting encouragement all the while. Lyria steps on Sandalphon's foot at least three times, but it hardly matters when she's light-footed and shoeless, whereas he takes extra precautions not to set his heel on any of her toes.

His memories churn. He remembers another day, another conversation. The wistful expression on Lucifer's face—he knows now what that look was. How alone had he been, as the Supreme Primarch? What had it been like to be so removed from the world he had watched over?

Later, when Sandalphon retreats to his room and finds a copy of  _ The Art of Evening Parties _ with a gleeful note from Djeeta, he growls and shoves both under the bed.

When Lucifer first died, he spent countless days sequestered in his room. There was nothing more to his existence beyond avenging him, beyond keeping that promise. It haunted him in the evenings. Sometimes, he could hear Lucifer's dying words again:  _ My penance is death. Yours is to serve as the protector of this realm. _

Lucifer had been running away from the start. Apologizing blindly when he finally manifested to hold the seal, ignorant of  _ why _ Sandalphon had languished in despair. Even so, death shouldn't have been the answer.

Weeks ago, Sandalphon would have gladly died if it meant Belial and Lucilius would be exterminated from the realm.

Now, he thinks he might carry on. The first Supreme Primarch to surround himself with mortals, to live and breathe among their ranks as if he were one of them. There will be many stories to tell Lucifer in the end, once he sees through Djeeta's mission, once all is settled. He has a lot to say to Lucifer once they have all the time in the world—so many things to teach him about the mortals he had been so inspired by.

The dance lessons go more easily under Djeeta's tutelage. Sandalphon trades off on dancing with her and Lyria. At one point, Djeeta startles him by bringing Seruel for practice. The Erune proves an adroit partner, nimble and elegant, his grace the result of years of royal tutors.

"It's to practice with a taller partner," she tells Sandalphon later, smiling wistfully. "Just in case."

He thinks about Lucifer, the first time he'd walked with him in the garden. Even with his heels, Sandalphon had to tilt his chin up to look properly at Lucifer.

"Just in case," he agrees.

The banquet itself is a formal affair, every other footstep punctuated by a swirl of skirts or a jangle of accessories. With Vira's connections, the Orders arrange to have the event hosted at an Albion manor. Ironically, the ballroom has been decorated away from its original opulence; there is an open dance floor with tastefully understated marble tiles, and tables of refreshments line the perimeter of the hall with seating areas scattered throughout to suit the varied tastes of the guests. Exquisite flower arrangements sit as table centerpieces. Golds and blues paint the walls and tablecloths.

When Sandalphon takes his first steps inside, he does so as part of Djeeta's crew, and the group elicits a mesmerized murmur among the assembled guests. The outfit designed for him is a joint collaboration between Korwa and the crew's usual tailors, Lala and Lolo. It fits perfectly on his frame, the black shirt tailored flawlessly, the trousers forming sharp lines along his legs. The jacket is not nearly as prim as the suits he's seen in the hall, but it lacks the flippancy of something truly casual. His favorite piece might just be the pashmina scarf; it sits curled loosely around his neck, fluttering whenever he turns.

Still, something's missing. It's missing even as he forces himself to mingle with the others, to smirk back at the jokes, to dance at least once with each of the main members of Djeeta's entourage. He bows to Djeeta, twirls Lyria, takes graceful steps with Rosetta. Even Io demands a dance, and he gives it, too deep in his attempt to pretend that absolutely nothing is wrong.

Long before the night is over, he escapes to one of the balconies overlooking the garden grounds. The hedges have been trimmed to perfection, every tree and bush accounted for. It's a far cry from the garden he remembers, where the forget-me-nots had refused to stay in a single space, their blossoms creeping along to form an indistinct path. Lucifer's very presence had coaxed flowers into bloom, the buds sprouting as they basked in the light he held in his core. Their shaded garden had never fully been tamed, beautiful as it was; they'd cared too much for evolution to cull the extra growth.

Ah. So that's what's missing.

It was simple enough for the two of them to pretend all was well when they finally met again. There were plenty of things to occupy his thoughts when he was still seeking vengeance—how to track Belial and Beelzebub, what he would do to them when he found them, all the things he should have done to avoid Lucifer's untimely death. There hadn't been space for the feeling of simply  _ missing _ Lucifer.

"There you are."

He turns on his heel to find Djeeta watching him solemnly, resplendent in her dark evening gown. He frowns. "You should return to the festivities."

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly.

"Why?"

"I knew you were feeling off. You didn't look like you were enjoying yourself." She bites her lip, looking like she might know why. Her gaze darts briefly to the window, following the erratic steps of a giggling couple. The Draph drags his Erune partner into a graceless dip, and she goes, their mouths crashing together.

Sandalphon looks away sharply. "It'll pass. You have nothing to be concerned about."

"You say that, but you  _ always _ make me feel concerned." She offers him a wry smile before it fades, replaced by that same solemn look from before. "You're thinking of him, aren't you." It isn't a question.

A beat. "Yes," he admits. The fact that he's making any concession at all can speak for itself.

Djeeta lets out a sigh. "Knew it."

Sandalphon makes a noncommittal noise, toying with the end of his scarf. "You know," he says after a few moments, "I saw him when I was taken into the rift. We...talked. We had coffee together, just as he—"  _ Wished.  _ But perhaps Lucifer's last wishes weren't his to tell. "I said a prayer for his soul once, wherever it had flown off to… And I think that was where it had gone. A space for souls to rest, where the line between the dead and the living blurs."

Lucifer's smile had been light itself. His guiding light.

"So you saw him again, huh? Do you think it was a dream?" Djeeta asks, propping her elbows on the ornate railing. She casts her gaze up into the sky, watching the stars gleam overhead.

"No," he says, sure of himself. "It wasn't a dream. Not quite. I knew I was meeting him, and I knew that those moments were real. That should have been enough, shouldn't it?"

Djeeta doesn't tear her gaze from the stars. He follows her line of sight, tracing shapes in the lights, casting aside all care for true constellations. A pair of wings here, another there, until he can envision the sloping arcs of six sets of wings. His gaze darts, trying to close the gaps in the shapes, a game of connecting stars without lifting away. The one path he finds takes him through one wing, out another, scrambling the lines.

"Why should we settle," she says, "for  _ just enough_? Why should  _ you_?" She finally meets his eyes, her expression cross. Her eyes glitter with the flare of an oath waiting in the wings. "Don't you think he deserves better?"

The only path forward, then, is  _ through_. To force a path by his own choice.

It had all seemed so impossible. An impossible wish for coffee together, grown into another impossible wish for more  _ time _ together, grown into yet another impossible wish to have Lucifer back here, smiling, seeing everything he had never dared to experience.

"I told you we would apologize to him together, didn't I?" Djeeta asks quietly.

It's those words that snap him out of the stupor. Sandalphon straightens with a laugh. "Haha… And I told you you didn't have anything to apologize for, didn't I?"

She looks at him and grins, all fire and steel and everything that brought her into the path of becoming the Singularity, the one force in the world that no one in the skies can deny.

"Well, you know the drill," she says. "We aren't in the business of leaving anyone behind."

He has no leads but himself: his borrowed power, the twelve wings at his back, the warmth in his core. Lucifer's was a place the living were not meant to see, but Sandalphon had made that journey once, unwittingly. He could make it again.

Instinct guides him back to the Grandcypher early, back to the familiarity of his cabin. His wings manifest, stretching, filling the length of the room with a soft rustle of feathers. He had tapped into their power once, with Lyria's good-luck charm—now they linger with him. There's a connection somewhere there; it had brought him to Lucifer once. The steely tones of Lucifer's voice, raised with his in a battlecry, resonated in the very core of his being during that battle.

_ I am the Supreme Primarch_, he tells himself. For once in his life, the mantle fits.

Sandalphon closes his eyes, following the lines of his memories. If he has to traverse chaos matter itself to dredge up the tenuous lights of Lucifer's soul, he will. If he has to trace his own thoughts back into hell, back into the depths of Pandemonium, with its unending slew of Otherworlders baring fangs and claws alike at him, then he will.

The air is still. There's a thought waiting for him, light as a feather.

He'd fallen from the skies, when he'd returned from the rift. He could have plummeted back into the Crimson Horizon itself; he'd still been weak from the separation of body and soul, the aftereffects of being torn asunder by the rift.  _ Could have_, but then the Singularity had extended her hand, seized his, and  _ pulled_.

And there it is. Every time he falls, there's an opportunity: to cast out hope like a line, and believe it will be caught. To set that wish free and  _ trust _ that there will be someone to protect it. That  _ hope itself  _ could be his wings.

He settles on the sheets of his bed, feathers flying astray as his wings flutter, sending gusts rattling the furniture. His consciousness buckles under the threads of a dream, and he lets them take him, casting aside his reservations. He follows the light that burbles in the innermost chambers of his core, seizing to the beacon it throws.

_ I believe you know how to return to them, _ Lucifer had told him.  _ All you need to do is spread your wings and follow your heart. _

He gathers the power that once stopped Lucilius, channeling it in a different way.

" _Paradise Found,"_ he breathes.

"Ah, welcome back, Sandalphon. I did not think you would return so soon."

Sandalphon opens his eyes, and for several moments, he's blinded by the dazzling afternoon sun, blinking spots out of his vision. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes, only to be startled by the stretch of his black half-gloves. The scarf he'd worn is still warm around his neck. He sits up abruptly, startled—and narrowly misses headbutting Lucifer. It's only a last-minute flare of panic that drives him to divert his path.

Lucifer laughs softly. He's been sitting beside Sandalphon in the grass, leaning over him, the initial concern that knitted his brow slowly chased away by the ribbon of laughter.

Sandalphon flushes and averts his gaze. It takes a few seconds before he regains his bearings. "I'm back," he says. "I didn't want to wait."  _ I've already waited too long. _

Lucifer rises to his feet, as gracefully as he would have done as the Supreme Primarch. It's still an odd sight, seeing him without his wings. He extends a hand to Sandalphon, and Sandalphon takes it, their palms brushing as Lucifer curls his fingers around Sandalphon's and pulls him to his feet.

For several moments, he doesn't let go.

"Would you care for a cup of coffee while you're here?"

"Yes! Allow me to make it this time—especially after I had to leave so soon when we last met..."

Sandalphon follows Lucifer to the pavilion with their coffee table and its matched chairs, gaze softening at the sight of the kitchenette to the side of it. He would have thought the garden around them unchanged if not for the new trees sprouting in the distance. It warms him through, seeing evidence that Lucifer listened and took his suggestion seriously.

"You've been growing coffee trees," he says finally, after he's finished a brew and poured two cups for them, setting the first in front of Lucifer. The porcelain clinks quietly from the minute scrape of the cup against its saucer.

"I couldn't disregard your advice. It helps pass the time." Lucifer takes a sip, and a smile curves his lips. "You've grown even better at this."

"I've had even more practice now. The Girl in Blue… She insisted I open a cafe, after I mentioned it as a passing thought. I use the space beside the mess hall on the ship." With a sigh, he offers a helpless smile. "They insisted on selecting the decor. Tablecloths, cups, napkins… There's no end to their requests."

"I see. But you're enjoying yourself, aren't you, Sandalphon?" Lucifer still says his name the way he's always done, every syllable rising from his lips in a caress. "You could open another coffee shop on one of the islands."

"Hahaha… Perhaps on Lumacie. Even though that shaded garden is gone… I think I would still like to see the plants there again. Away from the ruins of the labs, of course."

It's Lucifer's ensuing pause that pushes Sandalphon into alertness, and he glimpses the flicker of sorrow in Lucifer's eyes before it fully passes. Even now, Lucifer tries to suppress such things, tries not to speak overtly of them—and Sandalphon won't allow this to stand.

"Lucifer… How long has it been for you since I last visited?"

A shadow passes over Lucifer's eyes. "I cannot say."

"Lucifer—"

"Tracking the days in your absence would be an exercise in futility," murmurs Lucifer. "This is indeed a place where those burdened with sentience may rest. I let time pass without a thought. In many ways, it is peaceful."

"It's peaceful," Sandalphon concedes. "But are you content with this?"

"I suppose," Lucifer says quietly, "that there are times I find myself wanting for company. I dwell on yours most of all. It  _ has _ been a long time since we could meet regularly for coffee, hasn't it?"

A fault that is theirs to share. Sandalphon knows his part in the rebellion, just as he knows the way Lucifer had been so ignorant of the issues that led to its culmination. They are not each without blame.

Well, if Lucifer won't say it, then it's his turn to reach out to Lucifer.

"I missed you," he says, meeting Lucifer's gaze. "Every so often, I would catch myself thinking of you, wondering how it is that you're doing, what thoughts crossed your mind all those years ago. This place is  _ peaceful_, but it's… You're not—"

_ You're not _ with  _ me,  _ he thinks, but the words die in his throat.

And he doesn't imagine it, the way Lucifer's eyes widen a fraction in that near-unnoticeable way of his, muted but  _ there_. All Sandalphon really needed to do was look. He'd been blind to not see such things before.

"I'm glad," says Lucifer. His smile is softer now—sweeter, like the faint scent of honeysuckle that lingers in the garden. "I missed you as well. I cannot say that my existence now is unpleasant. But it's only when you return that I…" He looks nearly as though he won't finish the words, but with the softest of sighs, he does. "...feel as though I am not truly in stasis. ‘Will we meet again?' I thought I understood the answer to this question… That I might finally grasp what it is you felt so many years ago."

When finally Lucifer manages another smile, it isn't without a terrible, aching loneliness.

"We made a promise," Sandalphon says fiercely. "I wouldn't break that—"

"You would not," Lucifer agrees. He offers a rueful look. "But I cannot help but wonder how you are doing as well. I know with certainty that you fight to keep your promises, as you've done for me before. Still, I...worry. But I console myself with this: if at least one person remembered me… I would be content. I would not simply be a memory."

Lucifer looks weary, the consequence of thousands of years in seclusion, letting his devotion to the world protect it, even as the world failed to know his name in turn. There's an echo of other words in there. Sandalphon can hear them clear as a whip, his own voice lashing with all the ferocity of one.

_ It could've been anyone. Anyone at all. I just wanted one person in the world to tell me that I matter—that I'm needed! _

"You will always be my guiding light," says Sandalphon, his conviction a flashfire searing his very veins. "Never doubt that. Even if the rest of the world forgets you… I will carry you with me, always. Your strength, your memory. I will never forget you. I swear it."

"Ah…" A breath, and finally, the tension in Lucifer's shoulders eases. "Thank you, Sandalphon. I know you will not let me down. Just as you offered me comfort every time we met in the garden all those years ago, even now, you're reassuring me."

"Haha… No matter how much time passes, I won't stop. If I'm always to be your solace, I have to act the part, don't I?"

Lucifer's laugh is soft, fond. "I'm not assigning that as a duty or a role—it makes me happy whenever you're yourself. Even all those years ago, I thought, beyond the comfort of being able to speak to you as an equal, beyond the earnest reassurances you offered me… You gave me hope."

Sandalphon pauses at that admission, fingers going still around the handle of his cup. "Lucifer..."

"Primal beasts are not built for the capacity for mortal understandings," Lucifer murmurs. "So it goes. So it is. My old friend told me this no small number of times. I understood at my core that we were not meant to fathom these unnecessary things. But it is precisely because they are unnecessary that I found myself hoping. At their crux, mortal affections are simply another quirk, given meaning only when they are laid in a frame of reference. Will it give them strength? Will it produce weakness? Such things cannot be determined without a larger context. But nonetheless, I found myself hoping."

Sandalphon lets out a soft breath. "For?"

"That we too might evolve. I had wished for all the primarchs to simply live, without being bound to their duties…but I believed that, if we could change too, then perhaps we will have truly fulfilled our duties to evolution. To understand it in full, at its heart. To evolve beyond what we were created to be, and weave our own stories, just as mortals do. The shaded garden where we first flew together… It may be lost, but I remember even it was not bound by stasis. It grew. It changed." Lucifer smiles. "Just as you have."

"But we still have this," Sandalphon says. " _This _ shaded garden… I know it to be real as well. And if it has changed, maybe you have, too."

"Have I?" Lucifer peers down at his cup, rueful. "If not for your visit, and the way the trees have been growing, I would have believed very little changed in this place. If it isn't an illusion spun from my memories, then what do you suppose it is?"

"A reality shaped from our thoughts. This shaded garden may not be the one where we first flew together, but it's  _ ours_. And if this reality may be shaped, even temporarily..." A thought, and the greenery ripples, a displacement with its own unseen timer. It takes the shape of the grand hall he remembers from the banquet, empty save the two of them, alone. He can hear Lucifer's soft gasp amplified in the vastness of the room. "And this, I saw with the Singularity's crew. I wanted to show it to you."

"For what purpose?" Lucifer asks, voice tinged in fascination.

"You have always been captivated by mortal traditions," says Sandalphon. "Their cultures, their arts. Music and dance. The Singularity's crew showed me these things. And I wanted to show  _ you_. You wished for all primarchs to live, but even now, you won't allow yourself to live in the way we do. I want you, too, to just  _ live_—to simply  _ be_, without concern for your purpose. I absolve you of it. I want you to find your own as well."

He knows what he must do now. Rising to his feet, Sandalphon musters all the grace he knows, takes careful steps around the table. It's an oddity now against the backdrop of the hall, a fragment plucked from the garden and carried along with them.

Once he's finally close enough, he dips into an elegant half-bow, just the way he'd been taught. He offers his hand, palm-up.

"May I have this dance, Lucifer?"

Time could have frozen, for all he knows. Lucifer doesn't move, going still, barely even breathing. Several seconds too many pass. Unease sets into Sandalphon's belly as he ruminates over all the possible ways he could have upset Lucifer. Until finally—

"You may," Lucifer whispers, and he rises to his own feet, wonder in his eyes.

Sandalphon cradles Lucifer's hand gently as he leads him out from the table to the sprawling expanse of marble floor that is empty for dance. They don't have an orchestra here, but it's enough to guide Lucifer's hand to his hip and clasp the other with his own, taking them through the steps of a waltz.

To his credit, Lucifer is unearthly graceful even in this, responding perfectly to Sandalphon's every cue. They settle into a relaxed rhythm, and Lucifer shifts with every coaxing touch, falling into step, malleable to Sandalphon's lead. His is the touch of someone who would never deny Sandalphon anything in the world, and for that, Sandalphon's heart aches.

"The skydwellers prefer music to this, don't they?" Lucifer murmurs, but still, he comes into place perfectly, stepping into the beat that Sandalphon sets.

"Ah,. I don't have music, but…" His mind scrambles for a track and falls short. "The Girl in Blue, Lyria—she came up with her own song..."

"What does it sound like?"

Sandalphon hesitates briefly, but he sings it for him, the  _ woah_s and  _ yeah_s husky and low in his throat. It nearly throws them off-beat. He stops only at the abrupt chuckle that escapes Lucifer. It escalates into a small, delighted laugh, evading Lucifer's attempts to stifle it.

"Wh—are you  _ laughing_?"

"Hahaha… Even in this, you're so earnest. I was startled." Lucifer's eyes are crinkling at the corners. It's the most unrestrained he's looked in the years Sandalphon has seen him, and Sandalphon can't help but stare. "It certainly gives me a stronger impression of the Singularity's crew."

"Lyria came up with it," Sandalphon insists. "I've tried my own hand at poetry, and it's far more eloquent—"

"Poetry?" Fascination tinges Lucifer's voice again. "Would you share it with me?"

"Ah… Perhaps it's more a song than a poem now…"

"Sandalphon," Lucifer says in that way that Sandalphon can never say no to, "would you sing it for me?"

Sandalphon's throat goes dry. He looks at the way Lucifer's eyes gleam brilliantly in the play of light that streams through the windows, the way the sun falls over his hair.

And he sings.

_ What makes the sky blue? _ Lucifer had asked, once.  _ Perhaps a question is really a wish… _

They settle into a proper rhythm this time as Sandalphon gives shape to the words, all the thoughts he'd wished for Lucifer to know. In the beginning, there had been no meaning to his existence. When he finally gained it, it had been at Lucifer's expense. A promise in the wake of his death, sealed by blood and the pure white of the wings he'd inherited.

He had thought to watch over the future and all that may come in Lucifer's stead, but now he finds himself seeking out a different desire—a world that they might watch over together, bound not by duty, not by obligation, but by  _ choice_.

For now, they have this: just the two of them, alone, a new paradise found in the quiet of an otherwise empty room. They sway together, and Sandalphon guides them through the new beat, improvising with each motion. He steps earlier, waiting for Lucifer to ease into the melody that he sings, giving him the best of it. For several moments, there is nothing else.

When he finishes, he pulls the scarf from his own neck and drapes it over Lucifer's shoulders, the warmth of it kissing the planes of his throat.

"Something for you to remember me by, if I take too long," he says, and Lucifer's returning smile is exquisite. "It seems I'll be chasing you, no matter where I am."

"If you must leave a memento with me," Lucifer says huskily, "then I want to give you one as well." He's quick to pull the ribbon from his own collar, with its iconic red—Sandalphon has never seen him without it. Lucifer loops it around the back of Sandalphon's neck, tucking it under the fabric of his collar. Then he laughs softly, a warm, vibrant sound. "Perhaps I'm the one chasing you now."

"An evolutionary race, then."

Lucifer smooths down the fabric of Sandalphon's collar with a careful, lingering touch. "How so?"

Sandalphon smiles. "We've been chasing each other all along, haven't we? I still have a lot to learn. But maybe, someday, I won't have to tell you ‘I'll be back in a bit.' I want—" His breath stutters, catches in his throat. "I want to be able to tell you, ‘Let's go home.'"

There's that moment. That blind leap of faith, of reaching out and knowing he'll be caught. The same feeling he gets when he's with Djeeta's impossible crew, just like the way he'd felt when he'd flown the first time, Lucifer his wings, cradling Sandalphon in the circle of his arms as they'd risen together into the upper reaches of the sky.

The skies had seemed so impossibly, wonderfully vast.

And Lucifer gives him that look, the kind that rips out the floor beneath him until he's free falling, with just enough space to spread his wings. The kind of look that says he can live up to all that evolution means and more. That simple, resolute faith.

"There are other traditions among the mortals," Sandalphon says boldly.

"Then enlighten me. I'm certain you know more of their customs than I do." Lucifer's smiling, his voice teasing.

Sandalphon lifts a hand, fingers ghosting along the curve of Lucifer's jaw as he slides them up, fitting them against Lucifer's cheek. Beneath his fingertips, a shiver ripples through Lucifer's skin. Sandalphon guides his fingers lower, tracing the contours of Lucifer's upper neck. There would have been a scar here, if not for this dream-turned-reality.  _ He's trembling_, he realizes. But it isn't fear or anxiety on Lucifer's face, or the memory of his death. Instead, something like anticipation holds Lucifer in place with bated breath.

Finally, Sandalphon fits his hands against the fabric of the scarf he'd draped over Lucifer's shoulders. He gazes up at him.

Lucifer's eyes are half-lidded. Blue.

For Sandalphon, there's only one person who breathes color into these skies.

"Let me show you," he breathes, and he curls his fingers into the scarf and pulls Lucifer in for a kiss, fitting the two of them together, the way they're meant to be.


End file.
